


Things Are Changing Now

by orphan_account



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, POV First Person, Romantic Tension, Slow Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 04:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9965030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ruby x Belle in the library. (Hinting at mild lesbianism/unrequited feels) by http://gnomingabout.tumblr.com/post/35444012940





	1. Things Are Changing Now

* * *

 

You get the idea that Belle doesn’t know you’re in the library.

The front door doesn’t have the chime that Granny’s does and Belle doesn’t have your hearing. You let the door shut quietly behind you, walking soundlessly to the front counter, you look around. Between the shelves and the dim lights, looking is more for show than anything else. You know where Belle is.

You can hear her and the gentle friction of book covers scraping against each other as they’re shelved, a rustle of swaying fabric, a soft absentminded humming. Yes, Belle was filing away some of her cherished books.

You follow the sounds, passing by open boxes of books, stacks and stacks of texts. The library still isn’t ready to open. Belle has been reorganizing the stores of literature; adding new labels, sorting genres, and making a new master inventory list. She was more than up for the challenge. She loves this place already and you’re glad to be a part of pointing her in this direction.

You’re careful when you tread down a particular row of shelves. You don’t want Belle to know you’re here just yet so you keep one wall of books between you and the librarian. Something makes you want to watch her; peering through the spaces on the shelf, leaning lightly against the wooden frame of the bookcase, admiring this woman from afar. A sense of pride swells in your chest when your prediction came true; Belle is shelving books, wearing a flattering summer dress, and humming to herself.

Your ears are awesome.

In the back of your head, you know that this… isn’t social behavior. This is something you get from your other side. Watching something while they’re altogether unaware, slipping close without alerting them, opening your lungs filling your senses with them—just in case you lose a visual, you’ll be able to track them down.

No, this is hunting behavior. 

You understand that. You’ve accepted it. What you don’t get is why Belle is the only one that brings this out in you? Why do you want to hunt Belle? Your jaw sets and your eyebrows knit, still staring at Belle like if you watch long enough you’ll be able figure it out.

Why do you hunt? For food, right? You hunt because you’re hungry and you want to kill something and eat it.

You would never want to hurt her.

Never.

You shake your head, that’s… not what this is about. You remember shadows of that time, after you found out you were a monster, when the moon would be reaching that pinnacle in the sky and everything in your body would start itching fill that hunger, that horribly morbid urge to destroy. It was dark, and vile, and this feeling isn’t anything like what you remember of that.

You don’t want Belle to satisfy _that_ hunger. But you do want her… for some reason. You want to be near her, to be close, and you don’t understand it.

You’re not going to figure it out by staring at her, and besides, you want to talk to her more than you want to watch her. With one last look, you steel your resolve and walk around the end of the shelf.

The librarian notices you almost instantly, catching the movement out of the corner of her eye. She startles, just a little bit—and you try not to read into it, she’s not scared of you, she was just surprised—before a delighted smile spreads over her face.

This time, you try not to stare at her mouth.

“Ruby,” Belle presses the book in her hand over her heart, laughing softly to herself, “you’ve given me a fright, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“You should look into a door chime,” you throw your thumb in the direction of the entrance. “Granny’s has one. They’re not too hard to install.”

Belle’s smile dips as she bites her lip, thinking about your suggestion. She thinks about everything you say. She listens and takes you seriously enough to actually consider the words coming out of your mouth. It’s refreshing. Before the curse was broken, so many people brushed you off as just a simple waitress, someone who depended entirely on their Grandmother like some leech to society.

They overlooked you.

Now, they go out of their way to be aware of you. You feel them watch you out of the corner of their eyes, knowing you’re doing the same. They’re waiting for you to show your true colors. Now that you’re a threat, you’re worth their attention, and your status in the society has changed from leech to menace.

Belle is different. She listens because she respects you, as a friend. You’d like to think that you’re friends. You earned her trust over syrup and she doesn’t know enough to see you as a danger just yet.

“I think I might have to add that to the list of renovations,” Belle’s sweet voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “It’s a wonderful idea, Ruby, thank you.”

“I could install one for you,” you shrug your shoulders, and stuff your hands into your jeans. The shirttails of your red checkered shirt bunch at your wrists and suddenly you feel like a lumberjack in these boots. “It’s nothing more than a few screws. So simple, I could totally take care of it on my lunch break tomorrow.”

She really perks up at that, her smile part thankful and another part flattered, “Oh, you don’t have to do that for me. I can get around to it eventually.”

Belle is such a nice girl. Sweet in a way most people only pretend to be. She’s genuine and gracefully sure of herself. She’s smarter than you, you can concede to that. Not to mention, Belle’s… rather pretty. You wonder if that was what drew Rumple to her.

Skin the shade of starlight; hair as dark as a moonless sky.

You don’t know much about her life in the Old World, but with her looks, you’re sure she was some sort of princess.

“I know you can do it yourself,” you take a few steps closer. “You’ve done so much already.”

You look around to gesture to all the progress she’s made on her own. This is important; you want to let her know that you recognize her accomplishments. You hope she understands that you know she’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

“This place looks great, Belle,” you take one more step closer. She blushes at the compliment; your eyes linger on the rosy color. “Let me help you out. That’s what friends are for.”

She likes that word. You can tell by the change in her posture; how she clutches her books tighter to her chest, the way her eyes crinkle at the corners. It’s crazy but you think she even smells happy.

“I guess I could use another pair of hands,” she licks her lips, thinking of how you can help.

She puts you to work with kind direction and an infectious excitement. It’s not long before your arm is full of books and you’re on your toes to get the shelves Belle can’t quite reach.

Out of the corner of you eye, you focus on the woman’s movement. Observant to the number of books balanced in one arm, the shift of muscles when the other raises a book to the shelf. Her hands are sure, arms steady, shoulders elegantly defined.

Belle is strong; you like it.

Your other side likes it more. Belle can take care of herself; she’s a force to be reckoned with. There’s a certain amount of… challenge in the air when you’re around her. It’s like you want to prove yourself to her, and prove that she’s worth your attention all at the same time.

You send her a sideways glance, “Did you want me to pick a stool while I’m getting that chime? If the librarian can’t reach half the books—”

Her elbow finds your side and you almost drop the novel in your hand because you’re laughing so hard.

“That’s hardly funny,” she protests through her smile. As she’s watching you laugh, her own hands momentarily forgetting their shelving duty, hovering a book just shy of its post. Your laughter softens considerably when you meet her stare.

Eyes; soft as a doe and keen as a fox.

There’s barely any space between you now, if you moved and inch your elbows would be touching. You can _feel_ her thinking. The influence of her mind surrounds you, making you doubt yourself somehow. You’re caught hoping she likes the conclusions she’s drawing about something you can’t even begin to understand.

There’s something to be said about eye contact; the monster inside you doesn’t like looking away first. No matter who you’re looking at, you don’t look away first. Until right now, the flutter in your stomach, that peculiar force that called you here in the first place; it yields.

You look away from her, fixing your eyes on the spine of a random book, waiting for her next move.

“Although,” she breaks the silence, you can hear a smile in her voice, “I do miss rolling ladders.”

You laugh under your breath, not sure why you’re blushing so much. Your face probably matches the color of your shirt. “I’ve never seen one in real life, only in pictures.”

“No, there’s none in this world,” she sighs, continuing with her work and you follow her lead, “but…”

The wistful tone of her voice makes you look over, peeking past the curtain of your hair.

Her eyes are sparkling when she admits, “I think I’ll trade a ladder in that world for a friend in this one any day.”

Your smile probably speaks for you, but you have to needle, “A _tall_ friend, or will any friend do?”

“A _good_ friend,” she admonishes, with a smirk she adds, “but being tall doesn’t hurt your odds at all.”

The shelving progresses, a slow process filled with talk of the townsfolk. There are a few giggle fits and laughs thrown in. You enjoy her company. She’s sharp girl, witty to a tee. Mostly, Belle asks about what’s been going on in Storybrooke for the last twenty-eight years. She likes to hear the stories of the townspeople, the adventures of Sheriff Swan, and the almost-downfall of the Evil Queen.

You want to ask where she’s been this whole time. What she meant by _a kept woman_ , and if Rumple had anything to do with that.

If he did, if he caused any harm to her, you’re not sure what you would do. If you could do anything, that is. He’s the most powerful man in the town and your power is helplessly dependent on a full moon and… honestly untamable. Even if you set out to hurt only him, you’d probably raze all of Storybrooke.

It’s a silly idea anyway. You’re no match for his magic.

Your other side is still fantasizing about avenging her. You feel the rustle in the pit of your stomach. Your toes curl uncomfortably in your boots, wanting to feel soil between them as you chase him down through the forest.

You dream of hearing his heart race, fleeting as a hummingbird’s wings as you corner him. The satisfying splatter you’ll feel when you finally take his throat in your teeth. The blood will wash into your mouth, warm and pulsing with the last beats of his heart, until the last of his life is drained away and you’ll be victorious. You’ll throw your head back and offer your thanks to the moon and—

_No._

You shouldn’t want that. Those aren’t the thoughts you need to be having. Somehow, this man means something to Belle. Friends don’t daydream about killing their friend’s kind of maybe exboyfriends.

Your monster would do it without a second thought.

You might not be as remorseful as Granny would like you to be.

The fact is, you would do it for her. She means something to you. To you and your monster.

That beast is still itching for something. Standing next to her for the last hour isn’t satisfying it. All you want is to be her friend and try to figure out what compelled you to follow her scent into this building.

“Ruby, could you…?”

You’re still in your own world when you look over; mindlessly reaching for the book she wants you to put on the shelf above her. Shifting impossibly closer, you reach over and gently coax the book out of her hand, trying to ignore the way her arm runs along yours as she lowers it, only to have her elbow brush your ribs when she takes up another text.

It sends a tremor through your body, and you overbalance, shifting one foot behind hers. Her hand catches your waist; steadying you and making you feel faint again all at the same time. Her touch—it does something to you. It makes your skin flush and your stomach flip and you gasp because you’ve never felt anything like this.

Gasping in a lungful of _her_ —this close, this pure—makes your head spin, eyes fluttering closed.

You followed her scent into this building. You could pick it up on the street, it was like a neon sign pointing you this way. It was so tempting, like smelling popcorn still in the microwave or cookies cooling on the counter.

You are _lost_ in the smell of her. Moving closer and needing more. It’s a delectable mix of roses, and the pages of books, and the drops of ink on her fingers. Your fingers tremble against the book in your hand, your empty hand grasping at air for something to hold onto. You need something to ground you.

It’s too late—you’re possessed—you press your nose into her hair; it’s softer than down feathers. It takes you to a place you’ve only seen in your dreams, running through an open field, laughter floating all around you. It’s a wonderful place, you never want to leave.

Distantly, you hear her hitched breath of surprise and feel the squeeze at your hip.

But you can’t stop. Your monster has edged its way into control. This hunger, this need, is too much. That pull you felt so deep in your stomach is crawling to the surface. Your blood is racing in your ears, or is that her heart?

With a serene kind of languor, you burry your nose deeper into her hair. A deep inhale fills your senses with the most beautiful thing in the world. Belle envelops you; she’s everything and anything you could ever care to acknowledge. Tragically, you need to let go of this happiness if only to fill yourself up once more.

Letting out a shaky, regretful breath, you sink away from her hair. Her skin might be the shade of stars but it’s as warm as sun kissed rocks on the riverside. It feels so perfect against your cheek. You thought her hair smelled wonderful—her skin is heaven. She smells alive. You can catch a hint of the day’s work on her brow, feel the blush on her face, and hear the small squeak she makes when you press your face into the side of her neck.

You belong here. You’re never felt so sure of anything in your life. Your beast is calm, and for the first time encouraging you towards something other than blood. Everything is right in the world as long as you can keep nuzzling—

Nuzzling; that’s what you’re doing.

You’re nose deep in your friend’s neck.

You jolt back so quickly you trip on the box of books behind you and end up on crashing into the lowest shelves across the aisle. It’s clumsy and embarrassing but not nearly as humiliating as how you—you lost all control of yourself, all sense of your humanity.

You’re an animal.

A monster.

 “I—I’m so sorry,” your voice is broken and weak.

Belle seems lost, or at least her shoes do—you can’t look her in the eye so you watch her shift her weight between her feet.

You’re breathing through your mouth to keep your head clear but it’s just making you look like a panting dog. Your eyes sting, your face hurts from how badly you’re blushing, you’ve ruined everything.

“I’m gonna—I have to go,” you scramble to your feet; you need to get away, you need to clear your head, fresh air.

You’re running like a scared little puppy and it’s the most mortifying thing. Half of you is _screaming_ to stay where you are; close to her, it never wants you to leave her side. The other half knows you’ll never be able to be near her again. Nothing can keep you here any longer.

Except her.

“Ruby, wait!”

You skid to a halt at the end of the aisle, one hand clutching the shelf to keep you steady and the other pressed against your nose. You don’t turn around, you simply wait, trying to take the smallest of breaths that you can.

“Please,” she’s grasping for words, “could we… can we— _talk_.” Her voice comes out firmer, she’s the strong one right now, “We can talk about this.”

She tries so hard to keep if from sounding like a question. You have very good ears; you can hear the quiver in her voice.

You don’t know what there is to talk about. Should you admit that there’s a beast inside of you, and it wants to nuzzle her neck? Yeah, that will go over really well.

There’s a sinking feeling in the back of your mind… somehow you know it wants—you want—more than that.

“I want to understand.”

She needs the truth from you, she deserves an explanation. You remember how she cast Rumple away for not being brave enough to be honest with her. If there was ever a chance to fix this, to mend this, it’s with honesty.

“I’ll tell you everything,” you turn your head just enough so she can see the side of your face, when you promise, “I will, but I can’t right now.”

She’s considerate enough to realize you’re at your wit’s end, so she gives you her blessing, “I’ll be waiting, Ruby.”

As you scamper out of the library, the soundless door swings closed behind you, fresh air fills your lungs, and now you have to find a way to tell this beautiful girl… that you’re a beast.


	2. Until Recently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during “Child of the Moon” showing Belle’s night in the library and the events following. Continuation of “Things Are Changing Now.” (http://gnomingabout.tumblr.com/post/35801395960/until-recently)

* * *

 

You hear a wolf howl in the distance and oddly, it compliments the sound of chains scraping against the tiled floor.

Ruby.

The things you’d like to say to her right now.

How can metal be so cold and burn so severely at the same time? It grates on your skin, biting like sandpaper and reminding you just how _helpless_ you are.

No, helpless isn’t quite the word you would choose in this instance, because you were perfectly capable of helping Ruby when she needed it. She came to you and you wanted to help in any way you could. You offered your library; and to stay with her, watch over her, be there for her—you promised anything.

And _she_ had promised to explain everything, and you know this wasn’t the way she had wanted to do it—half scared to death, unable to keep her eyes off the clock, and with David and her grandmother waiting outside. She gave you the basics, explaining the truth of her nature in such a self-reproaching tone, your heart knotted and all you wanted to do was take her in your arms and promise her everything would be alright.

You had even tried.

Finding Ruby on the doorstep of your apartment was the best surprise of the night. A smile sprung onto your face so effortlessly that you’re weren’t even aware of it until it promptly fell off. She was upset; standing there with one hand grasping her elbow, in the clothes she was wearing yesterday, and a police cruiser parked in the drive behind her.

“Ruby,” you had whispered, moving closer and reaching to touch her arm without thought, “what’s wrong?”

She had moved away from you, just out of reach, and glanced into the sky impulsively.

“Ruby?” you brought your hand to your lips and tried to hold back the sting of her dismissal. Reaching for her had been a horrible idea anyway, she had been skittish around you ever since that incident in the library when she had acted… beside herself.

You gave her space, you let her gather her courage. You weren’t going to press for answers. If she wanted to be honest with you, well, you were going to let her do it at her own pace. You have your dignity, you weren’t about to beg her to give you that decency.

Even through you hoped beyond measure that she would.

“I need your help.”

Her hand had been forced, you understand that.

She hadn’t been ready to say her bit when you invited her into your home, when she paced about your kitchen, randomly turning on the tap with a suspicious glance out the widow above the sink.

As gently and as you could, you asked, “Are you in trouble?”

Her lips curled at that, an ironic smile that clashed uneasily with her sad eyes, “Me? No, but the town is… and so are you.”

Her hand had been forced and time was of the essence.

Ruby had a wolf inside her and it was clawing to get out. She was scared, of herself and of what might happen to other people. Most of all, she was scared that she might lose you. You could see it in her eyes, the way she watched your face for any sign of distress, anything that might give away a newfound fear.

But you weren’t afraid.

You trust her to a point that’s bordering on absurd. When she… acted out in the library—you knew she wasn’t in her proper frame of mind. She was being influenced by something else. Her body had slipped just outside of her control, like someone else had been pulling her strings. Urging her to lose all sense of propriety and… act as her wolf would?

And still, you weren’t afraid.

A bit surprised, and… your curiosity had been tickled pink, but you were not afraid.

“What can I do?”

You had simply wanted to help her. More importantly, you wanted to do anything you could to make sure she knew that nothing had changed between you. She has been so good to you since you left Rumpelstiltskin and gained your independence. Ruby had shown you around Storybrooke, helped you find the library, and explained the New World to you in a way that no one else had been so particularly patience enough to do.

She had been so incredibly helpful that you might have even started associating her with that sensation—freedom. With Ruby there wasn’t a past or a precedent. There wasn’t ruin or wreckage.

There was nothing holding you back.

Until recently…

When she chained you to the fire hose in your own library and left you so she could go rendezvous with her lynch mob.

Until she trapped you here, alone.

With nothing but this binding mess of iron and desecration.

She left you here, _chained_.

You pull with all your might but the only thing you accomplish is jarring your wrist and making senseless noise. It’s nearing frantic—the way you struggle with your cuff. You want it off, you need it off. The metal isn’t only on your wrist. It’s crawling up your skin, wrapping its chain around your chest, your neck, your heart. It’s suffocating, and ruthless, and you can’t handle it.

This one scrap of metal has the power to completely break you.

A shuddering breath fills the empty library and your fingers scramble along the shackle as if they’re going to find some secret release latch. Each time a link hits the floor your body chills; you can feel the stone walls against your back, your ears ring with a deafening blast of a slamming dungeon door, you feel the stiff polyester of an asylum smock chaffing your neck. There’s not enough air in the room, your arm jerks roughly at the chain—it doesn’t give—you’re panicking, frantic, falling into the darkness.

They’ve all done this to you. Everyone that’s ever claimed to care about you has locked you away, shut you out, dismissed you and your feelings.

This chain is a weight on your heart, because not only are you helpless—you’re loveless, dejected, and alone.

The tears sting and you squeeze your eyes shut to keep them away, to keep the library around you from truing into a dungeon.

Deep breaths; slow and steady.

That’s right, use your mind. Calm down and think. You can get out of this. You force your eyes to look around with a sharp focus. The tears fall; you ignore them, there’s no one around to notice them anyway.

This chain might have been strong enough to hold Ruby’s wolf, but wolves don’t have opposable thumbs. You promised yourself this would never happen again, and if it did you would do everything in your power to get out. Twenty-eight years is enough. Countless hours in a dungeon were enough. You won’t have this in your own library. Not if you can help it.

There’s enough room behind the water pipe for you to squeeze through. The wall against your back makes you quake, remembering those days when all you wanted was to feel the sun on your skin. Slipping by the hose mount gives you another three feet of slack and it’s enough to put you in arm’s length of the only tool you can see.

It’s a pen; laying on a desk just a breath away. You lean forward as far as you can. Your wrist strains in the cuff, your arm pulled tight from the rest of your body, holding you back. It’s no guarantee that you’ll be able to open the lock with it; the _chance_ is worth the discomfort.

“Come here, you bloody thing,” you groan from between your teeth, leaning so far forward your shoulder burns with the stretch. When you finally catch the pen between your two fingers you feel blessed.

You can’t feel anything in your trapped hand.

Another wolf’s howl floats into the library. Your shaking hands clench. Ruby is still alive. She’s still out there somewhere. The shadow of a smile on your face is a direct contradiction to the wound in your heart. You’re so glad that she’s still safe, but you are so angry with her. You continue your efforts to escape with a renewed vigor, as much as you want to get out to help keep her safe, when everything is said and done, you’d like to give her a piece of your mind.

You’re so far gone in your mental cage, reverently focused on your task, the point of the pen working against the tumblers in the shackle, that you’re not sure how much time has passed.

When you hear the door to the library open you spring from your place, huddled in a corner between the water pipes and the side of a shelf, to get to the door. The disassembled pen falls carelessly from your lap in the haste to see who’s coming in. You’re praying that it’s Ruby; that’s she’s okay. You’re so frantic for information that you forget the chain until you get a painfully violently reminder. Your wrist, arm, and shoulder all ache, but not as much as your heart when David steps through the door.

“Ruby, is she—did they—” you can’t finish it.

His smile is reassuring, “She’s fine, everything worked out. She never hurt anybody.”

He takes your hand and in one simple turn of his wrist, releases your shackle. He explains the murder, how Rudy was being framed, how she regained control of her wolf. You can’t seem to understand. Why isn’t she here? If she’s alight, then…

“Where is she now?”

He laughs, like remembering an old joke, and tells you that Ruby is indulging herself in a way she hasn’t been able to for twenty-eight years.

She’s running free.

She left you behind.

You feel the weight again, and this time, David doesn’t have the key.

—

The night sky is warming. The sun will rise soon. A few days ago you would that thought it was the most beautiful thing. Right now, you can’t find it in yourself to care.

You haven’t slept at all and you had just enough sense of mind to change into something warmer. This is the coldest part of the day, waiting for dawn. Your breath fogs in the air in short frustrated puffs. You hold your thermos tighter between your hands and march with a determined stride. David told you she would be in the woods. You’re going to find her. While you don’t want to get lost, you wouldn’t mind losing your anger along the way.

_She didn’t know._

Ruby doesn’t know about how you were traded to Rumpelstiltskin in a deal like some sort of object, or about how you’ve been trapped in that ward under the hospital. She _did_ witness the kidnapping your father put you through but that wouldn’t justify how irrational you’re being right now. She had been trying to do what she thought was best for everyone. You have to know that. You have to forgive her.

But that doesn’t mean you won’t make it explicitly clear that she is never to do that again.

The woods are rather large, and you don’t know how you’re supposed to find one person in all of these trees. David tried to point you in the right direction. Honestly, you barely heard a word he said. You don’t think you’ll need it anyway. Your feet know where they’re going.

They’re following your heart.

You find her, as you knew you would, curled up on a heap of moss near a large rock.

She looks serene, her skin and hair glowing in the dawn sunlight. You move cautiously, torn between not wanting to startle her and keeping yourself from storming over to lecture her. So for a moment, you simply observe. She looks just like she always has; thin frame bent in on itself for warmth, one gangly arm tucked under her head as a pillow, her hair is simply everywhere. She looks happy, even in sleep.

You’re reminded that everything worked out for the best. She might have been insensitive to something that truly hurt you, but she didn’t know any better, and everything worked out in the end. Watching her sleep, sipping your tea, and listening to the song birds waking in the trees, takes the wind out of your sails. A few links of chain fall off your heart.

Steadily, you inch closer, still careful not to wake her and surprisingly, you’re able to get settle down against the nearby rock face. Time passes, your thermos empties, and you might have dozed off yourself once or twice before she first stirs. It starts as a breath, deep and refreshing, her nose crinkles cutely and her eyes squeeze shut tightly against the sun on her face. Then everything tenses, her body coils and snaps into action. You’re startled by the speed of it, how suddenly she’s staring you down, braced on her hands and toes, crouched and ready, her eyes dark and wild—she’s the wolf.

Then it breaks, as quickly as it came. With a single blink her eyes are so bright, her smile so pure. She shifts so naturally, falling onto her hip and drawing her legs up under her. One hand moves to rub the remaining sleep from her eyes, but it doesn’t keep the sleepy grin off her face. She’s one of the most adorable things you’ve ever seen and your bitterness from last night can’t keep you from acknowledging that. 

“Belle,” her voice is scratchy from sleep and she clears her throat before she continues, “what are you doing out here?”

This isn’t the way it was supposed to go. She wasn’t supposed to pull this woodland child bit on you; looking so endearing with that twig in her hair, eyes squinting in the sunlight, and speaking your name with a sleep filled voice that sounds so good to your ears that you want to ask her to say it again. No, not matter what kind of butterflies are awakening in your stomach; she’s not getting away so easily. You’re standing your ground.

“After being locked up all night, I was up for taking a bit of a walk.”

You see her deflate, shoulders slumping, eyes falling to the moss, smiling slipping away. She did just wake up, and she had a rough night, so you wait for her to gather herself. Softly, she says, “I was trying to protect you.”

“You were trying to be a martyr,” you correct, it comes out sharper than you intended.

Her eyebrows knit, but she keeps her glare on the moss, “If I _had_ killed Billy, I would have deserved my justice.”

“Oh, what that mob had in store for you was anything but justice,” you’re still angry that she would be so quick to resign herself to them. “You ran off because you thought this world would be better off without a part of you.“

Her eyes find yours then. You can see the defensiveness as plain as day, dark and brewing, “I can’t—Belle if I hurt someone again—”

“Am _I_ not someone?”

She flinches at the bite in your voice. You didn’t mean to snap, you didn’t. You thought the hike out here would calm you down, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

“Am I not someone you should be worried about hurting, Ruby?” your voice is small now, sad in a way you don’t understand.

You were supposed to be strong, but the way she makes you feel is anything but. And not just about the library incident. She… inspires so many things in you. You found freedom again with her. She lets you open up in a way you haven’t been able to in so long. You understand most of those feelings; some of them—the ones that are more about Ruby herself than your journey to independence—well, you haven’t figured those out quite yet.

Ruby is very special to you.

She’s watching you so closely that you can’t keep her eyes when you continue, “You were so worried about the people of the town, running around taking all these precautions to protect them. You wanted to die for those people; the ones that jumped to the worst possible conclusion of you, and there I was…”

In the library, making a fool of yourself by hoping your opinion would matter enough to her.

“It was admirable,” you say softly, picking at a spot on your jeans, “how willing you were to protect everyone, but you were so worried about keeping everyone else from _physical_ harm that you didn’t think about how… truly hurtful that was, when you…”

She dismissed you so easily.

You catch your nail on the thread of your knee, a flood of embarrassment running through you. It’s pathetic. Now she’s going to conclude that you have some sort of abandonment issues. You blunder forward, “And I suppose that makes sense because you’ve known everyone in town for so long, you’ve endured this entire curse with them and while I’ve been trapped in that wretched prison—”

“What prison?”

The bottom of your stomach falls out; you hadn’t planned on saying that.

“You mean the curse?” her voice is a bare whisper, and you can see the tears in her eyes. She feels horrible.

_You_ feel horrible, and this was never your intention. You didn’t want to give her another reason to feel guilty, you just wanted to explain.

“You could say that, in a way. During the cursed time, I’ve been,” you flush with a misplaced shame, “kept in the psychiatric ward of Storybrooke’s hospital. For the past twenty eight years, courtesy of our fair mayor.”

She pales; you literally watch the color drain from her face. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, shifting on the moss uncomfortably. This wasn’t what you wanted, even if she probably understands now.

Finally she finds her voice, “And I left you in the library.”

In chains.

The look on her face breaks your heart, and you want to take it all back and make her feel better, “Yes, and it hurt, but there’s no way you could have known, Ruby. I do understand that. You were so brave last night, don’t think I don’t see that, and I’m _so_ grateful that you’ve worked everything out and come to terms with…”

You’re not sure how to address it. You’re sure not calling any part of her a monster.

“My wolf,” she says with enough conviction that you believe her, blinking away the regret your confession had caused. She might always have to be careful, she would be wrong not to be cautious still, but she’s accepted herself. “I—I am the wolf and the wolf is me, I forgot that, but now I remember.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

Her eyes flicker back to yours, eager and disbelieving all at once, they study you and like she expects you to take it back. Her shoulders twitch, her eyes shy. You think you know what she wants.

You want it too.

“Come here,” your arms open and she scoots forward. When your fingers get a hold of her shirt you pull her closer than she was expecting, until she’s leaning against your chest, her arms wrapped around your waist.

You hold her and she holds you and it’s one of the best feelings. Contact is a blessing to you. You cherish it. After twenty-eight years of not touching a soul, after being banished to a stone room, a simple touch means the world. It makes you so happy that she’s not shying away from you this time.

“I am so sorry, Belle,” she mumbles against your shoulder. “I should never have locked you in the library.”

“I know you’ll never do it again,” you hope she can hear the smile in your voice.

“Promise.”

You stay quiet for a while, it’s comfortable, and you’re almost sure that she’s fallen asleep again. You feel sleep tugging at your own consciousness, leaning against this warm rock with her curled between your legs. Instead of dozing off, you busy yourself with gently coaxing the forest debris out of your friend’s hair.

“I hope you enjoyed your run because your hair is a mess,” you murmur, just in case she is sleeping.

She snorts, a puff of air breezing past your collar, “That happens.”

“Will this happen more often,” you wonder in a soft voice, this moment seems too tender for loud voices, “now that you have made peace with your other side?”

“I hope so,” she takes a deep, yawning breath. One of her legs tucks up under your bent knee, her fingers gripping your pea coat lightly. This feels right. With the birds and the sun. It’s magical.

“You know, it does make a hint of sense, you being part wolf and all,” you place the lightest of kisses to her hair, just to be sure she knows you don’t mean it maliciously. “I remember being very impressed with your appetite.”

“Just because you can’t eat an entire hamburger doesn’t mean all of us are so dainty.”

You grin at the teasing tone in her voice, happy that things aren’t ruined between you, “In my defense, Granny’s hamburgers are very large.”

She chuckles, “I guess you’re right.”

“David told me you were the one that was able to track me down when that man took me into the mines.“

"I lead them to your father’s flower shop,” she shifts a little, when your knuckles accidently brush along her ear. You think she might be ticklish.

“He didn’t say how you were able to do that.”

“I… you left a sweater in your booth.”

You think about that, as you fish a particularly large leaf out of the ends of her hair tossing it to the ground next to you.

“You must have a very good sense of smell.”

She hums against your chest.

You want to ask about the library and what was going on with her sense of smell between the shelves of books. Why she took such a peculiar fancy to your hair—to your neck. You flush, even now, with the memory. No matter how badly you want to ask, you won’t. Not right now after you and the town have already put her through the ringer.

“You smell like roses.”

It’s a simple compliment, maybe even more of an observation than an accolade, but her voice is so small, and her arms tighten around you in such a helpless way that it sounds like the most cherished secrets. Your body warms under hers, you’re sure your face is pinking with a pleased blush. It’s one of those feelings Ruby brings out of you… the kind you’ve only ever had a few times before.

You don’t know what to do about it. It’s scary and exciting all at the same time.

She’s still tense, waiting for a reaction. Her nervousness makes you think that this is quite important to her as well. You’re important to her. Your heart flutters at the idea.

“I’d love to return the compliment,” your hand strokes through her hair, feeling the shiver left in your fingers path, “but this is your second night spent in the woods and the third day in that outfit so…”

She pushes away from you, propping herself up with her hands to shoot you an affronted look, “I do not smell.”

You had tried to keep a straight face but it was no use. She’s even cuter when she’s insulted and it feels good to laugh after such a long night. She catches on and smiles as she rolls her eyes, “You’re mean.”

“I am, I’m sorry,” you press between giggles. You feel her watching you laugh, her eyes linger on your smile and it makes you grin all the more. Taking in a calming breath, you find your voice and say, “It’s comforting though, knowing that you could find me.”

“Always,” her eyes dart between yours, “I’d always be able to find you.”

You don’t need her to say it, the look in her eyes tells you that if it came right down to it, she wouldn’t let anything keep her from getting to you.


	3. Story Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle tells Ruby about how she slayed the dragon. Continuation of “Until Recently” (http://gnomingabout.tumblr.com/post/35952600781/story-time)

* * *

 

Belle slips quietly onto her seat at the bar of Granny’s Diner.

She thinks of it as her seat because ever since that pancake dinner with Ruby, she hasn’t sat anywhere else.

She likes being at the counter so she can talk to Ruby without taking her too far out of the way. From here, Ruby can watch the floor from over Belle’s shoulder and be a mere step away from the till. It’s perfect for both of them.

Irrationally, she expected Ruby to be there by now. It feels like every time Belle arrives at the diner, Ruby would appear from the back before she even made it to her seat. She wondered if her timing stemmed from the waitress’s intuition or sense of smell.

Granny is the one manning the counter this time. From over her glasses, she watches Belle situate herself before she asks, “What can I get you?”

Belle knows she’s asking for proprieties sake, because Belle always orders the same thing. The sound of the chime cuts her off and draws her attention. The smile on Belle’s face is instant, even if her eyes are a little curious.

Ruby is tearing into the diner, an old backpack over one shoulder and a _bow_ of all things, cradled in her other arm. It matches the worn leather quiver tied to her belt. Belle is intrigued and impressed; she didn’t know Ruby was an archer. It must be something from her past life, like her moonlight runs, a skill she hasn’t humored in quite some time.

Ruby certainly looks like she has just escaped from the woods; her eyes are that frisky kind of wild that Belle has learned to recognize as her post wolf’s time glow, and they’re looking right at her.

“I got her order, Granny,” Ruby moves quickly behind the counter, pausing only briefly to kiss her grandmother on the cheek.

Granny is not impressed, “You’re late, and what did I tell you about that thing?”

“I know, I know, no weapons in the shop, I’m gonna stash it in the back,” she sends Belle a smirk as she passes, and quietly promises, “I’ll be right back.”

“You should have known better than to hunt on a work night, Ruby,” the older woman tuts, even though her granddaughter has already disappeared through the doorway to the back, “I knew you wouldn’t make it back in time.”

With her wolf hearing, Ruby can hear her without a problem, “Then you should’ve _known_ better than to let me go.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I won’t,” Ruby strides back into the counter area. Her checkered jacket has been discarded, replaced with an apron thrown over one shoulder, and her bow was traded for a tea kettle. She sets the kettle on a stand, and turns to the sink to wash her hands, “because you’re always looking for a reason to ruin my fun, I’m not about to give you one.”

Belle watches with a soft smile, appreciating the woman’s fire. Ruby has really come into her own since she’s accepted her wolf. She’s surer of herself, confident in a way she hadn’t been before. She’s finally at ease in her own skin, comfortable and complete.

Ruby dries her hands off on a towel and spins to the counter. Belle’s eyes flicker from her fluttering hair, to her warm smile, to her friendly eyes, “Good morning, you. I’m sorry I’m late.”

Belle brightens at that, because apologizing for being late implies that this was an expected meeting; like this wasn’t Belle getting tea at a diner, this was two friends meeting to spend time together.

“Good morning, Ruby,” Belle says quietly, for some reason cautious of Granny’s eyes, “I’m glad to hear your night went well.”

“ _So well_ ,” she teases, tugging her apron off her shoulder to fasten it around her waist, smoothing her red teeshirt down out of habit. Next, she pulls a tea cup from under the counter and sets it in front of Belle. She’s steady to pour the tea, her hands strong and sure.

“I didn’t know you hunt,” Belle figures it makes sense, but she’d like to hear it from Ruby anyway.

“I’m getting back into it,” Ruby admits casually, “I’m a little rusty. How about you, how was your night?“

"Oh, it wasn’t as interesting as yours, although,” Belle confesses, her lips quirking into a bashful smile, small and excited, “I did slay a dragon.”

Ruby grins, her hands working steady even as she laughs, setting down the kettle and reaching for the honey dispenser, “Tell me about it?”

Belle bites her lip and waits until Ruby is finished pouring the honey into her tea—three circles—and sets the container aside, leaning on her elbows to give her friend her full attention. Belle picks up her spoon, stirring in the honey slowly as the tea steams. Ruby knows how she likes it by now; warm with honey in the morning, and iced in the afternoon.

Ruby stays at the counter as long as she can get away with and listens to the stories Belle had read the night before. They were always worlds apart; one day Belle would be plundering with pirates, the next she would be climbing the tallest mountain and barely escaping frostbite. Apparently, last night she was fighting a dragon and Ruby wants to hear all about it.

She listens to the retellings every day and at first Belle was shy, not wanting to take too much of the woman’s time, or talk Ruby’s ear off with her own interests. It took a small amount of coaxing, but finally Ruby was able to convince the bookworm that she _wanted_ to hear it.

Not only did she want to hear about the book, she wanted to see the shine in Belle’s eyes, hear the delight in her voice, and watch the animated hand gestures of swordfights and sonnets. She loved listening to Belle, especially when Belle fell into this… particular way of telling the story, as if it was her own journey.

It was an accident at first, Ruby was sure by the blush on her face when Belle caught herself. It took a little coaxing on Ruby’s part, but eventually, Belle became comfortable enough to tell the story as she really saw it, describing herself as the character in the book.

So when she talks about receiving an imperative quest from the kingdom of her land, Ruby conjures images in her head of Belle in chainmail and brandishing a sword with as much skill as the warriors of the Old World. Ruby knows that no matter the quest, or world, Belle would be able to accomplish anything she set her mind out to do. She was quite wonderfully stubborn that way.

Belle recounts her journey, infiltrating an abandoned castle, the way she battles the dragon, and how she nearly loses her arm in the process, “The mangy thing’s tail cut my arm so badly that I couldn’t hold my shield.”

Belle drops her left arm to her side, her whole shoulder slumping with it as if truly wounded. Ruby loves it when she gets this dramatic about the retelling; she leans further onto the counter, listening with such an affectionate attention.

“Good thing it wasn’t your sword hand,” Ruby glances to the spoon her friend was holding between them like a weapon.

“A very good thing,” Belle smirks, trying to ignore her own blush. She sets her spoon back on the saucer with a shy glance around the diner, “because I needed that arm to rid the kingdom of that menace.”

“How did you do it?”

Belle’s eyebrows knit, for a moment unsure about what Ruby was asking.

It feels like that’s the most important thing; Belle took her through this wondrous quest, she’s injured and staring down a mighty dragon, without her shield and her back against a wall—her body is humming with anticipation, she’s invested, and Ruby wants to know how the story ends.

But Belle thinks it’s more than that. There’s something in Ruby’s eyes, a challenging air in her voice when she asks, “How did you kill the dragon?”

Oddly, Belle finds herself wanting to impress those dark eyes, “He was sure he had me, maimed and cornered. He came at me, jaws so wide three men could stand in them at once—I dove forward, barely missing his teeth, but it gave me the perfect angle to—”

“Go for the throat,” Ruby finishes for her in a breath, deep and rich with a special sort of appreciation, one that matches the grin on her face—all teeth.

She shivers, because when Ruby’s eyes go dark like that, and her smile is half smirk, Belle feels like she’s playing with fire. Ruby is in complete control of herself, Belle knows that, but there are times when her wolf comes out to play, makes itself known in small subtleties of conversation, a projecting posture, or how she looks at the door before the chime rings. Belle adores it, and how alive Ruby can make her feel when they’re doing something so simple, just talking about a book she read last night.

Ruby clears her throat, straightening up and glancing away. She got a little too caught up on that last part, with the throat slicing and all. She tries to divert the conversation back to the story, “What happened next, after you took care of the dragon?”

“Well,” this time Belle looks away, taking up her tea and bringing it to her lips so she can mumble behind it.

“What was that?” Ruby tilts her head and this time her smile is playful.

Belle’s eyes narrow and her blush flairs, “I know you heard me.”

“You rescued the princess?” Ruby rests her elbows against the counter again and leans forward.

Belle lifts her chin, proudly defiant to Ruby’s teasing, “I did, and she was very grateful, mind you.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was,” Ruby nods, her eyes sparkling.

Belle swallows, biting her lip.

She’s not sure about that look in Ruby’s eye this time. It’s different, a special kind of sly and somehow sauntering all at the same time. Right now she’s isn’t positive if the woman across from her is more Ruby, or Red, or if it really matters. She’s quite taken with her, the mess of her; so stunningly confident one moment and then stutteringly shy the next. This woman, Ruby, Red, and her other side… they’re wonderful separate but together they’re breathtaking.

Maybe that’s why Belle can’t seem to get any air in her lungs.  

“And after being locked away in that tower for so long,” Ruby’s finger traces a pattern across the countertop.

Belle’s eyes want to follow it but she’s caught in a wolf’s stare.

Her heart is racing, and she’s holding her breath as that finger works closer, and Ruby’s words become quieter, drawing her in.

“I’m sure she had a few ideas,” her finger traces the edge of the saucer, stopping just short of Belle’s, which are still wrapped around her teacup, “about how to show her gratitude for such a service.”

Belle’s mind whirls, her thoughts caught up in memories from the book, where the princess certainly did have a few things to say to the knight. Granted, they didn’t _talk_ all that much and perhaps that was exactly what Ruby was trying to imply. She squirms on her stool, restless under Ruby’s eyes while trying to banish the image of a romantic tryst at the end of the story from her mind. As much as Belle enjoys putting herself in the character’s shoes, she doesn’t want Ruby thinking that she does that for _all_ types of situations.

Slaying a dragon is one thing, imagining herself with another woman… well, that’s something else entirely.

The librarian stumbles, “She um… she was grateful.”

Ruby’s fingers are working their way around the rim of the saucer, brushing along her knuckles so softly. The skin against hers, even that small bit of contact, pulls Belle back to last night, when she _did_ imagine herself… in _that_ kind of situation.

In her book, the knight coveted the princess. He described her with such praise and in such detail; her delicate skin, the soft nature of a woman’s body, the way her hair fell, and the warmth he found under her dress.

Alone in her bedroom, Belle had found herself a blushing mess as she _imagined_. She explored that fantasy from the safety of a book. She had put herself in that character’s shoes, and followed them into that bedroom. She wasn’t prepared for the floodgate that had opened. The images, the ideas, Belle hadn’t known where they were coming from, but they captivated her.

She didn’t know why the woman, who was always described as a blonde in the book, came to her mind’s eye as a brunette.

Why she had such dark eyes.

Why, instead of candle light from castle rafters, she saw the moonlight fall around them through trees.

Belle entertained the idea; she had seen herself with a woman last night, and the object of her fantasy had been such a close resemblance to—

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Excuse me?” Belle squeaks, her face a wild bloom of a blush.

“The book,” Ruby’s quiet rasp pulls her from her day dream, her eyes studying Belle’s face closely. “Did you enjoy it? Overall I mean.”

She pulls the teacup away from Belle, filling it easily.

“It was…” Belle licks her lip and tries to get herself under control, “worth the read, yes.”

“You read so much, Belle,” Ruby says in a voice that implies a compliment, “I’m surprised you can keep the stories from mixing together.”

“Hm,” Belle pretends to consider the matter, but really she’s focusing on acting as natural as possible, unfortunately she can’t pull that off with her ramble, “I suppose it would seem difficult to keep myself straight at times, but when your taste is as fluid as mine, the selection is quite rewarding and subjects are easily separated.”

Belle still can’t look Ruby in the eye so she misses the way Ruby covers her mouth with the back of her hand to stifle a laugh.

“Just don’t get too caught up in books, Belle,” Ruby smiles, placing the tea in front of her friend and catching her eye, “you need to do some living yourself.”

And while Belle has always enjoyed living vicariously through the characters in her books, there is one fairytale she would love to see play out in real life.


	4. Riverside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle finds Ruby fishing, Old World style. Continuation of “Story Time” (http://gnomingabout.tumblr.com/post/36767291449/riverside)

* * *

 

She’s hasn’t heard you yet, that’s a good thing. Though, to be fair, it probably has more to do with her position in the middle of the river than your ability to walk through the woods with any sort of stealth.

You also suspect she hasn’t noticed your scent because you’re downwind. You’re happy about that too because you’d like some time to drop your bag and relax. Sitting against this tree in the shade, you can catch your breath from the hike and watch Ruby do… whatever it is she’s doing with that stick.

She’s taken a perch on a rock in the very center of the river, balancing carefully on her bare toes and sitting on her heels. She’s watching the water pass with one hand draped over her knee and the other poised with a stick. It’s thin, sharpened to a point at one end and you realize—it’s a spear.

A spear? For fish?

You’ve only read about that kind of fishing in your books, and in that particular case, it was a story about an explorer observing an aboriginal culture. You kind of feel like that now, because Ruby looks so attune to her surroundings, natural in a mix of confidence and comfort.

She knows what she’s doing with that stick.

It’s known that she’s very skilled in the way of the woods. You’ve heard the stories of her and Mary Margret—Snow White—surviving in the Enchanted Forest while the Queen’s men hunted them. Even though she plays it down, you know that Mary relied heavily on Ruby’s experience in the beginning of their journey.

You try to think of her like that, back in that time, with her red cloak and her bow over her shoulder. No matter what she looked like in that world, she’s beautiful in this one.

From this distance, you can barely make out the dark floral pattern on her sleeveless, red shirt. Her torn jean shorts show off a lot more skin than you’re used to seeing and her fair complexion is shining in the sunlight. That same sun catches her dark hair in such a way, you think there must be a halo hanging over her head. You wouldn’t be surprised because this woman is an angel.

She’s been a saving grace to you. You first and only true friend in this world.

And maybe something more.

You’re not sure, but you study her face and wonder at the possibility. You find yourself impressed with her patience; there’s no way you could stare at the rushing water for so long without moving or losing interest. This is different from the fun-loving and occasionally rambunctious woman you know from Storybrooke. You feel like you’re finally getting a glimpse of Red.

Yes, it’s there in her eyes—the focused energy that you first saw in the library. She has the kind of eyes that can see what needs to be done, and the steady bearing in her posture to make sure it happens.

She’s a waitress, a wolf, and a warrior.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget the war she’s fought with Mary and David. The things she’s done to protect herself and her friends. She mourns Peter, because he was an innocent. You wonder if there has been other, not so innocent, blood spilled at her hands.

Or her teeth.

Your eyes watch her nibble on her bottom lip, and as dangerous as you think they should be, all you think about is how cute it is.

So much for self-preservation.

Ruby strikes, driving the makeshift spear into the water so suddenly that it startles you. There’s a spray of water but she doesn’t even notice, her eyes have not left the end of her stick—her prey—and as soon as it reappears from the water the other hand is reaching out to secure her wriggling catch on the rod.

When you’re finally able to pull your eyes away from the poor impaled fish, you lose your breath at how vibrant her smile is; shining with sunlight and an overwhelming sense of pride. You can see the culmination of all her hard work in that smile. You can see the satisfaction and delight. She’s in her element, doing something she loves, something she’s good at.

She’s happy with herself.

You love that look in her eyes.

Ruby stands easily on the rock, stretching her legs carefully with a keen balance. Without a single thought of hesitation, she steps into the water to make her way back to shore. The water comes to just above her knees, and a few wayward splashes catch her shorts, but Ruby isn’t the type to worry herself over it. Or maybe, _Red_ isn’t that type of girl.

Luckily, she’s headed to your side of the river and you decide that now is as good a time as any to make your appearance. Gathering your bag you break through the wood line and onto the riverbank. She looks over the second your boot hits a dried twig.

You pause, because her grip on her spear has tightened, and she looks like she might very well throw that fish at you. She’s surprised because she probably had no intention of anyone coming this far into the woods to find her, let alone _you_ of all people, and her confusion is plain as day.

“Belle?” she takes the last few steps onto the riverbank, her bare feet finding easy footing on the smooth rocks and soft dirt. “What are you doing out here?”

“Your grandmother sent me to give you this,” you touch the strap of the backpack you’re wearing, “and to tell you that she doesn’t expect you to be into work tomorrow.”

Her brow furrows tightly, less confused and more upset, “Why would she—we’re _at least_ five miles from town—what was she thinking sending you out here by yourself—“

That makes you bristle, almost stomping forward, “I can handle myself just fine, thank you. I made it here in one piece, didn’t I?”

She deflates at that, in a single instant, Red is gone and Ruby is standing in front of you, her eyes apologetic, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, Belle.”

“We’re not in The Enchanted Forest anymore,” you’re close enough to poke her in the shoulder—hard, “there are no ogres, or dark knights, or ruffians out here.”

She sighs, looking awkwardly hesitant with that fish on a stick and mumbling, “It’s still dangerous.”

“You’re out here by yourself.”

“That’s different and you know it,” her voice is serious but also gently imploring. It _is_ different; you don’t have her skills, or her experience. You’d just rather not have people thinking you are so incapable, but she makes a valid point.

“Fine, you’re right,” you huff, a smile tugging at your lips, “besides, I can’t take an argument with you seriously when you’re holding that fish.”

She grins, glancing at it and mumbles nearly bashfully, “I caught it.”

“Stabbed is more like it,” you can’t help but tease her.

Her pretty face winces, “It’s gross, I know, I—”

“Not at all,” you touch her arm lightly, because you believe that physical closeness is another way to convey your complete acceptance of every one of her different sides. Her skin is so soft, and this is the first time you’ve really felt it. You think you both shudder. “I have to admit that I’m impressed, I could never spear a fish right out of the water like that.”

“I bet you could,” she gives you this thoughtful half-grin, “with a little practice.”

You get your hopes up, “Would you teach me?”

She blinks, pleasantly surprised this time, “To fish?”

You glance around; it’s such a pretty place, with the river, the deep green trees, and the perfectly blue sky. And it’s all surrounding the most beautiful woman, standing barefoot on a riverside with a hand caught fish and looking like she couldn’t belong anywhere else. If there was any way you could fit into this picture a little better, you’ll do it.

Fish on a stick or not.

“And um,” you meet her eyes and you know it’s not the sunlight or the long hike that is making you feel warm, “anything else you think I’d need to know if… I’m going to be spending more time in the woods.”

She bites her lip, shifting the grip on her stick so the fish is slightly out of sight when she asks, “And why would you want to spend time in the woods?”

“Same reason you listen to me talk about my books,” you reach forward, taking her hand, “because _you_ love them.”

Her hand tightens around yours and her smile is a brilliant shade of blissful that makes you feel like you did something right in the world. She nods to the woods, “I um… have a little camp set up not far from here.”

“Lead the way,” you brush your thumb along the back of her hand and her fingers twitch against yours.

“Let me get that bag,” she blushes, squeezing your hand one last time before letting go.

“I can—”

“You just hiked all the way out here, Belle,” she’s already coaxing the strap off your arm, “let me give you a break.”

With a roll of your eyes, you shrug off Granny’s pack and hand it over because you can tell that this is important to her. She leads you into the woods. The air is cool, shaded by the trees, and you adore the little rays of light slipping past canopy overhead. You watch her tread along the moss and she doesn’t shy away from dirt or tree roots.

“How long were you watching me?” she glances back at you, her hair spilling over her shoulder.

“Not long,” you admit quietly, knowing she’ll hear you no matter how softly you speak. It’s so serene here, there’s no need for loud voices. “I sat against a tree and took a rest from my hike. I spotted you on the rock and wanted to see what you could do with that stick of yours.”

She laughs at that, stepping onto a fallen tree and walking along it with a grace you couldn’t possibly match. Especially with that backpack and a speared fish, but she has those long legs, and those strong arms, and—

“And how did you get roped into delivering my overnight bag?”

“I was at the diner and you weren’t,” you tell her, turning your eyes towards the scenery instead of your guide, “I asked after you and one thing led to another.”

“I can’t believe she let you come out here,” Ruby admits with a small snort.

You feel the grin on your face, “I can be quite persuasive when I need to be.”

As she hops down from the fallen tree, you can see the smile on her face, and maybe a hint of a blush. It makes your heart race to see her like that—even with the dead fish.

“To her credit, she wouldn’t let me leave until I accepted the map she drew me.”

She has a very good laugh at that.

The camp is simply a formation of trees, nestled together in the quaintest hint of a circle. There’s a fire pit, lined with rocks with wood piled nearby. You spot her bow hiding in a low branch of a tree, the quiver hanging on a notch in the bark.

She drops her bag at the trunk of that tree and sends you a charming smile, “Please, make yourself at home. I didn’t get a chance to tidy up, I wasn’t expecting company.”

You roll your eyes but you’re sincere when you say, “It’s perfect.”

Ruby’s smile turns into a pleased look, and she tries to hide it by turning to reach for a knife out of her bag.  The log placed in front of the fire is long enough for you both to sit on, so you follow her lead when she moves towards the fireplace. She sends you a sideways glance, the smile on her face hasn’t faded at all and you match it.

“I need to start the fire so… will you hold my fish?” she asks in the most adorable, half-convinced-you-wont kind of voice.

You take the stick from her hand, “Only if you share.”

She laughs, warm and rich and you melt in the sound. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of her smile.

Confidently she declares, “This is going to be the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

You pull your eyes away from her lips and you have to admit, there are better things out there. 


	5. Whipped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle is curious about a new word. Continuation of “Riverside” (http://gnomingabout.tumblr.com/post/37361581023/whipped)

* * *

 

“What did Leroy mean back there?” Belle asks into the silence, her words turning to fog in the chilly, fall air. “When he said that I have you—what was it—whipped? What does that mean?”

Ruby looks away with a short huff, she shoves her hands into her jacket pockets and keeps walking down the sidewalk. It was late; she had just closed up the diner with Granny and agreed to walk a less than sober Belle home. That’s when Grumpy decided to open his big mouth.

“It bothers you,” Belle observes, her eyes running over Ruby’s posture, “so I assume it’s a sort of insult.”

She shakes her head and grumbles, “It doesn’t bother me.”

“Your bristling tells me otherwise,” Belle smiles softly, slipping her arm through Ruby’s, “and back at the diner, I could have sworn your eyes changed color you were glaring so hard.“

Ruby looks away again, because she’s not proud of it. Her eyes did change, teeth were bared, and she most definitely _bristled_. Which made everything worse, Grumpy looked like he had just proven his point, Belle saw enough to get curious, and Ruby knew she was digging her own grave.

“I’m not bristling,” Ruby admonishes from between her teeth. It doesn’t come out as seriously as she means it to—she could never pull off anything close to harsh with Belle.

She knows it’s not her intention, but the pouting tone to Ruby’s voice is just too cute for the librarian to handle, she presses her face into Ruby’s shoulder to stifle her giggles. The liquor in her stomach is making her feel bubbly and warm even against the night air. She feels simply perfect.

Ruby’s jacket is perfect too; soft and smelling of leaves, and grass, and Belle knows why—she might have pushed her friend into a freshly raked pile this morning, and they may have spent an hour or two half buried in the burnt orange leaves, watching the clouds roll by, and waiting until Granny decided to tell Ruby to get back to work.

If anyone else had giggled at her, Ruby would have bristled even more, but Belle’s laughter—and closeness—only made her blush. She rolls her eyes to save face and admits, “Okay, so it’s kind of an insult.”

“And what does it mean?” Belle’s own eyes are so innocently curious when she looks up at Ruby, wide and bright with a genuine interest. “I suspect it’s not to be taken literally.”

“No,” Ruby kicks at a rock on the sidewalk as the pass. Why on earth did Grumpy have to open his stupid mouth and call her whipped in front of one of the most curious women in all of Storybrooke? “It’s slang.”

“Ah!” Belle’s face lights up, she tries to snap her fingers but it doesn’t work through her gloves. She tries a few more times, surprised by the silence and Ruby tries not to laugh. After giving up on the concept, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and points at her friend, “you’ve explained that phrase before. Slang is a common tongue; a vernacular of sorts.”

Ruby lets out a short laugh, a smile creeping onto her lips to match Belle’s, “Glad you’re taking my New World lessons to heart.”

“Of course I do,” Belle’s the one that scoffs this time, like she can’t even believe Ruby would suggest otherwise, “I remember everything you say.”

Ruby swallows down the fluttering butterflies and bites her lip to hide the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“So what does this  _slang_  mean?” Belle presses, squeezing Ruby’s bicep.

Ruby blushes even harder, a mix between trying to figure out what to say and liking the way Belle was pressed against her side. She doesn’t want to tell her what being whipped means because Belle is a smart girl—even when she’s had a few more drinks than she probably should have—she’ll figure it out; Belle will realize that it is true.

She’s totally whipped.

“When you’re whipped,” Ruby starts softly, scratching her nose and deciding to go with the nicest version of the word she knows, “I guess—crap, how do I explain this? It’s like, you’ll do anything for that person. The person that has you whipped, I mean.”

Belle’s face pulls into a confused pout, “But wait, isn’t that a good thing? To be selfless for another?”

“Well, yeah,” Ruby shrugs the arm that Belle isn’t holding onto, “but being whipped is…  _lame_.”

Belle is quiet as they pass a few storefronts, reaching out to run her gloved finger along a large glass window, “So he wasn’t really trying to be insulting, he was trying to tease you?”

Ruby simply nods, keeping her eyes on the sidewalk in front of them.

“I still don’t quite understand,” Belle admits, “are parents considered to be whipped by their children? Parents would do anything for their children, not that my father is anything to go by, mind you, but I’m sure that’s the general idea.”

Ruby laughs softly, “No, it’s different from that, it’s more like a…”

Relationship thing.

Ruby’s smile slips off her face and is replaced with a low feeling in the pit of her stomach. Being whipped is a relationship kind of thing—it’s an attraction thing. When you’re crushing on someone so badly you’d drop whatever you’re doing to help them with the smallest thing… when their happiness is a higher priority then your own.

When you couldn’t possibly say no to them… and could quite possibly have fallen in love with them.

Belle was all of that to her.

Ruby swallows her sigh and finishes with a flat, “…I don’t know.”

“This idiom can’t be that complicated to explain,” Belle murmurs encouragingly. “Oh! Give me a synonym.”

She looks positively elated at the idea and Ruby scrambles to fill her request. The last thing she wants to do is embarrass herself at Belle’s game. Words, written and spoken, means so much to Belle—as the forest means to Ruby. They are her world and Ruby wants to honor her respect for them as much as possible.

"Synonyms supply similar suggestions, so switch sayings sporadically,” Belle’s head bobs along with her words, and Ruby just watches with the most adoring smile on her face. When Belle notices her stare, it’s her turn to look away blushing with a mumbled, “A bit of alliteration never hurt anything either.”

“Not at all,” Ruby teases. “How is your vocabulary level so high, when you’re so drunk?”

“Hm?” Belle blinks down from the stars she was gazing at, and then she realizes. She puts her palm over her heart and the motion draws Ruby even closer to her, “I have no ghastly idea, and I’m not drunk—fuzzy, around the edges, but not drunk.”

“Fuzzy then,” Ruby concedes with a grin, catching Belle’s eye. “Now, let me think of this synonym.”

She chews on her lip, wondering what would be the perfect word to help Belle understand. It’s still a balance game. If she reveals too much, could Belle see through her over exaggeration back at the diner?

With a sigh, Ruby finally settles on a positive light, “Smitten, being whipped is kind of like being smitten with someone.”

Belle ponders this, Ruby can tell by the expression on her face, “That’s why you’d do anything for them, because you’re taken with them?”

“You know, going out of your way to do things for that person, hoping that they’ll notice you,” Ruby rolls her eyes again, her voice lowering. “Mostly, it’s when a girl has a guy wrapped around their little finger, and they’re so convinced that they have a chance with her, they end up trying too hard and making a fool of themselves.”

Belle touches her own forehead to illustrate her epiphany, giving an amused little snort, “So, it’s an insult because it turns a big bad wolf into a love-struck puppy.”

Ruby soundlessly opens and closes her mouth, a heat blooming on her cheeks. She pushes her hair behind her ear and whispers, “That’s pretty much it, yeah.”

Belle hums to herself, thinking it all over and maybe a little proud that she was able to figure it out.

They make it a few more blocks in a comfortable silence and Ruby is starting to think that she might have gotten away without Belle connecting the dots, until the librarian speaks again.

“When you helped me into my coat, offered me your gloves, and decided to walk me home tonight, all of that could have been taken for this kind of _whipped_ behavior,” Belle concludes, then as an afterthought she adds, “if you had feelings for me, that is.”

“Right,” Ruby agrees tightly, her stomach twisting and her blood rushing, “but Leroy was just being an ass, he gets that way when he has too much to drink… unlike you, who could recite a thesaurus on demand.”

That pretty laughter echoes through the street, “Now that’s an over exaggeration if I’d heard one, Ruby.”

“I might know how to track a scent,” Ruby nudges her friend lightly with her elbow, “but if I ever need to find the perfect word, I know just who to ask.”

Belle sighs, almost wistfully to Ruby’s ears. Her head rests softly against the taller woman’s shoulder as they walk, “And I’ll try to be as helpful as you’ve been to me; installing that door chime in the library and helping me shelve those books, teaching me how to live in the New World and…”

The hand running up her bicep just about makes Ruby trip over her own feet. She has to focus to keep her pace steady, try to stop the warm shivers from running through her body, or pulling Belle into a kiss right there and then. She doesn’t have as good a handle on the situation as she’d like, not with Belle pointing out her possibly whipped behavior and walking so close they’re sharing the same body heat.

“No matter what your intentions,” Belle speaks barely above a whisper, at a volume only Ruby could pick up on, making her words that much more meaningful, special, and intimate, “it all means the world to me.”

“I’d do anything for you, Belle.”

Belle stops in the middle of the sidewalk, near the corner of the block, just short of a glowing circle from the street lamp. She looks up at Ruby, who’s looking across the street to the library.

“So then…” Belle licks her lips and makes sure to keep Ruby’s eyes when she asks, “you wouldn’t mind walking me to my door?”

Ruby smiles almost bashfully, putting her arm around Belle’s shoulders gently, “Allow me.”

They make the journey across the street and around the corner, to the back of the library and the front of the caretaker’s apartment. When they make it to the door it’s not lost on Ruby that the last time she was here it was for much more unpleasant reasons.

She’s flooded in the shame she felt about how she had unwittingly recreated Belle’s worst memories. She tries to let go of her, keep her distance, and to prepare for goodbye, but Belle has other plans. Her hand slips around Ruby’s waist and holds her tight.

“Tell me,” her voice is soft, maybe because she knows Ruby will hear her, or maybe because she’s feeling shy, “in this whipping scenario, does it still have a negative connotation of both parties are invested, not just one?”

Belle waits patiently for Ruby to answer, but Ruby can’t seem to take in a breath. With a sly look, quirking and eyebrow and tilting her head, she waits.

“I don’t know,” Ruby mumbles. She really doesn’t know anything, especially what Belle might be implying right now and what that would mean for her. “I think that’s something else entirely.”

“Because you know,” Belle grips the lapels of Ruby’s deep red coat between her fingers and tugs lightly, “I would do anything for you, as well.”

Belle’s hands are pulling her closer, those bright blue eyes tempting her resolve, but Ruby tries to stay as still as she can; her pride is still very much a part of her and she can’t turn into a shriveling mess so soon. She can’t cross that line, not with Belle fuzzy around the edges, but her focus is blurring too.

Ruby takes a breath to calm her nerves, and it doesn’t work out in her favor. She’s surrounded by Belle, she’s immersed in the smell of her. It goes straight to her head, filling her senses with an aroma of roses, and ageing books, and a trace of the diner and it’s perfect. Ruby didn’t need to have a single drink at the diner because she’s certainly drunk now with Belle’s hands on her coat, how close she’s standing, the smell of her hair… how she’s leaning up and—

“I care for you, Ruby,” Belle whispers the words against Ruby’s warm cheek, her lips brushing skin so delicately, before placing the softest of kisses there.

She lingers, listening to Ruby’s breath of surprise, feeling the woman’s hands clutch around her arms. Ruby stays close; tilts her head, ever so slightly, her eyes flutter closed and her thoughts lost in a wave of influence from her other side—the animal inside her. Belle squeezes the cloth in her hands tight when Ruby brushes her cheek against her own, a nose tickling her temple. She hears Ruby breath again, this time a long inhale, drawn out, cherishing.

Her body trembles, and maybe she’s holding onto Ruby’s coat to keep herself steady now, because this woman is making her knees weak. Belle gave her a simple kiss on the cheek and now Ruby is returning it in her own way; their foreheads touch—just above the arch of their eyebrows—and the soft pressure, the nudge, is both shy and hopeful.

Because it seems natural, it feels like she’s meant to do it; Belle presses forward, matching Ruby’s gesture. The hands around her biceps twitch and Belle can feel the Ruby’s smile, she opens her eyes just so she can see it.

When she pulls away, she watches Ruby come back to her senses, eyes falling to her shoes, face coloring with a blush. Only this time she doesn’t look ashamed of her behavior at all, embarrassed maybe, but Belle think’s it’s more bashful then shameful. Nothing seems to be able to stifle that smile of hers and Belle has one to match. Her heart is racing, her breath short, and she’s light headed.

She feels like they had just kissed.

And maybe they had.

“Thank you,” she tugs on Ruby’s lapels one last time, “for walking me home.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Ruby bites her lip, her hands slipping reluctantly off the shorter woman’s arms, “anytime, Belle.”

“I know.”

Ruby sees it in her shining eyes and the hinting tone to her voice; Belle has figured it out.

Ruby would do anything the woman asked of her.

Because she’s totally whipped.


	6. Voiceless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is getting ready for Red Beauty Week (x). Ruby x Belle. A game in the woods. Continuation of “Whipped” (http://gnomingabout.tumblr.com/post/39179296107/voiceless)

* * *

 

“Coffee, at this hour?”

You turn, finding David a few steps behind you on the sidewalk.

“Tea, actually,” you stop to wait for him, a little company on the way home wouldn’t hurt any. “I haven’t developed a taste for coffee yet.”

He smiles as you fall into step together, assuring you that, “Coffee is overrated anyway. Horrible for your teeth.”

You like David, he’s a kind soul and reasonably surefooted in light of a crisis—he did something wonderful for Ruby and you’ll always be thankful for that, but you are curious, “And what has you out about at this hour?”

“I’m on my way to pick up Snow,” he grins with a lighthearted roll of his eyes.

“Ah,” you nod kind of stiffly, “Ruby mentioned something of a girl’s night between the two of them.”

“Somehow I don’t think most girls would be interested in what they have planned,” he laughs, then stops. “Say, you wouldn’t mind helping me out, would you?”

Because you’re inclined to think that this help will have something to do with the aforementioned girl’s night, you only needs the fine details, “How can I be of assistance?”

“Be a friend and walk Ruby home? It’s not far out of our way home, but it’s late and I know she’d like to see you.”

You cradle the warm paper cup in your hands, licking your lips and not at all able to hide the smile on your face, “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

“That’s great,” he looks genuinely relieved, “because it’s always easier to get them out of the woods when I can distract Ruby.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You’ll see.”

—

You see it, mostly hidden by trees and about twenty meters out, but it’s definitely a fire. Ruby has taught you a thing or two about fires; finding the right type of wood, picking the best spot to both ventilate and conceal smoke, and starting them, of course. Honestly, that’s your favorite part. She’s been teaching you all sorts of things about the forest and the way people lived in it before the curse. You wonder if this was a tradition in that time.

“Is this usual for them, to spend time together in the woods?” you ask David in a hushed voice, something about the woods makes you want to be quiet, inconspicuous—you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. It started the moment you stepped onto the trail and it’s the first time it’s ever happened in these woods. “Well, when they’re not wanted criminals and being tracked down by dark knights, that is.”

This is also the first time you’ve felt out of place since your first couple of outings. The hour might be the reason, or the moonlight blanketing the treetops, casting an odd pool of silver light onto the forest floor. It’s a new sight and you feel like you’ve been missing out on an entirely different world—Ruby is always so careful to get you home before nightfall.

It’s become a habit for hers; take you on a hike and teach you a thing or two. Sometimes you’ll grab a bite to eat at Granny’s when you make it back to town—she’ll never eat much, maybe a small order of fries—and then she drops you off at the library just as the moon is rising. You’re certain she goes right back to her beloved forest as soon as your door is closed. She doesn’t want to draw attention to her wolf’s time, but she knows that you realize what’s happening.

You’ve decided that it’s better not to press about certain things. Wolf’s time is her business, you understand that.

Your hands feel colder without your tea so you tuck them further into your jacket pockets. You shouldn’t have finished it so quickly; the caffeine is making you jittery and you nearly jump out of your skin when you hear a rustling of leaves off to your left.

David chuckles, glancing back, “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you. It was probably a rabbit or something.”

You’re sure he means every word, but for some reason, you don’t feel quite as safe as you do when… you’re with Ruby, and that’s probably because she walks _beside_ you, whereas David is _leading_ you. She has a wonderful way making you feel at home in these woods. Now you feel like an intruder, a stranger in a dark and gloomy home.

Not to mention, she would know for sure if that was a rabbit or not.

He’s getting up to a break in the trees, where the light of the fire is finally making shine marks on his boots. You’re still four strides behind but you can see that there isn’t anyone sitting at the fire; no voices, and no sign of movement. An ill feeling settles in your stomach and it’s not the tea.

David has noticed something is wrong, his head shifting back and forth, his pace quickening towards the clearing, “Snow?”

You hurry to follow, picking up on his concern. Your own intuition is prickling in the background of your mind and melded with a healthy bit of worry. There’s _no_ way Ruby would lose her way in these woods, the only reason for her to be missing is if something went wrong.

The air fills your lungs to call out to her, “R—”

Before you can finish, or set foot in the circle of firelight, a hand covers your mouth. It’s quick, and strong, and you can’t worm away before the second wraps tightly around your body, pinning your arms down to your sides. You’re about to go into complete survival mode—claws, kicks, bites, anything—when your captor makes soothing hushing sounds, and even starts to hum in your ear. It takes a moment for you to recognize it, a few breaths before your heart can settle, but when you do the song is light, warm, and so _familiar_.

So is the thumb brushing along you cheek, the shape of the person behind you, the hand running up and down over your elbow, and for a fleeting second your heart is pounding for a very different reason than surprise.

_Ruby._

This is Ruby behind you and she’s making your heart race and your body altogether too aware of all the places you’re touching. Her hand slips away from your face, and you can’t keep from tilting your head to follow her fingertips. She lets you turn enough so that you can see her face, and her smile. One finger—a precious finger—lingers against your lips in a gesture of silence, before pointing ahead. Your eyes follow while you try not to focus on the arm slipping down around your waist.

“Snow!” David’s voice is near frantic now and you watch him take a few more steps into the light. “Snow, where—ahh!”

The very loud crash makes you jump but Ruby is there, her low chuckle rumbling just behind your ear. The gentle pressure on your lower back urges your forward and Ruby moves with you, or at least she tries. For the first time in your memory, she trips over a tree root and you have to catch her around the waist to steady her.

She laughs, straightening the hat on her head. Her smile shines in the firelight as she slings her arm around your shoulders and you both walk into the clearing. You’re very surprised to find David suspended from a tree, in a very sturdy looking rope net.

By the gleam in her eyes, Ruby is not surprised at all. In fact, she’s very pleased to be watching him wrestling with the net and hanging from a branch. One corner of her lips quirks higher than the other and you catch a flash of tongue running along her teeth. You see the predator in her expression; proud and satisfied with a job well done, hard work paid off, the prey in its rightful place.

The intensity of her eyes is enchanting and you don’t think you’ve ever seen this much of her wolf so plainly exposed. It’s… striking—she’s striking, beautiful, and looks simply radiant washed in warm light. Even in her goofy trapper hat and that faded leather jacket with the oversized pockets, she’s the most beautifully wondrous woman in the entire world and you’re so lucky to have her arm around your shoulders. 

She didn’t sneak up on you to scare you, or even to play a joke, because the real joke was on David and she wanted to keep you from getting caught up in his fate—quite literally. You’re grateful, and somehow you know she was the one watching you since you started your hike.

She was watching over you.

David’s grumbles and grunts mix well with the boisterous laughter coming from the other side of the fireplace. You look over in time to see Mary Margret emerging from the woods; her eyes fixed on her husband, a large stick slung over her shoulder, and a wicked smile on her face.

“You’re gettin’ rust there,” she saunters her way around the fireplace, sending a wink to you and the grinning Ruby as she passes, “the Charming I know wouldn’t have been fooled so easily.”

Ruby scoffs, obviously she doesn’t have as much faith in David as his wife does.

“Snow,” he’s found his footing enough to peer through a space in the net, “let me down.”

She quirks her eyebrows at him and rests her fist on her hip, the other hand resting the tip of her stick in the dirt, “I didn’t hear the magic word.”

He rolls his eyes and starts trying to release the knots at the top of the net.

“You won’t get out that way,” she calls up to him, pointing her stick threateningly, “those are Ruby’s knots, and you know she’s the best trapper in the Enchanted Forest. Not even your snares can match her work.”

You don’t miss the way Ruby hums at the compliment.

He’s quick to remind her, “That didn’t keep you from falling for them once or twice.”

“Oh, like that counts!”

You turn to Ruby, “You set this up?”

Ruby gives you a sideways glance, the smile on her face flickering with a hesitant vulnerability. She’s proud of her little trick, she’s excited that it worked, and beyond all of that, you get the feeling that she wants you to be proud of her too. She, and maybe her wolf, wants you to be impressed with her cunning and skill.

You are very much all of that.

Slipping your hand beneath her jacket, you squeeze her hip and whisper, “This is brilliant, Ruby.”

Ducking her head and turning towards the fire doesn’t hide her flattered smile, or the blush blooming on her face, the firelight only makes it stand out more. You find the way she kicks the dirt adorable.

You watch the Charmings banter, finding yourself smiling along with their light hearted jabs—and Mary’s not so light jabs with her stick. It’s easy to see how David would want help, you imagine if both the women were occupied with their new catch he would be up there all night.

Then it dawns on you that you should be helping him. With a wince, you ask, “She will let him down right?”

Ruby grins at the question and nods.

You can feel the way your brow knits and you nudge her side, “Is there a reason you aren’t speaking?”

She flushes again and licks her lips. Her dark eyes dart towards Mary Margret, who’s walking over, leaving her husband in his net. You notice the teacher’s eyes study you both, taking in the placement of hands—on hips and shoulders—how she makes a sort of lingering eye contact with Ruby, silently asking permission before answering on her behalf.

“That’s because this Little Red went to drunk town,” she lifts her hand to Ruby’s hat and tugs one of its ear flaps. You only keep from slapping her hand away because she turns to you and smiles with such a friendly candor, “I hear your vocabulary level is impressive when you’re tipsy.”

You look to Ruby, who looks to the treetops. After a slightly awkward pause in conversation, she makes this _give me a second_ gesture and slips away from you, disappearing into the woods near David’s trap.

“Well, it’s kind of the opposite for Red,” Mary explains with a fond smirk. “It’s not a drunken blubbering kind of thing… more like she has her own way of talking.”

You have an idea to what she’s implying. You’ve seen it a few time before; an entire conversation between her and Granny in only facial expressions, when you’ve been in the woods for a while and she answers more of your questions with affirming or disapproving hums. Alcohol can bring a lot of things out on people, apparently it brings out Ruby’s wolf is this small way.

“If you know her well enough, you’ll be able to catch on to what she’s saying.”

“Oh, I’m picking it up just fine,” you tell her calmly, very careful to keep her eyes, even when David comes crashing to the ground.

Her smirk turns into diplomat’s smile, challenging and charming all at the same time, “I should have known, word is you’re a quick study.”

She turns on her heel with a flourish, walking away from you in such a poised manner—you’re reminded that she was once the Queen of a vast kingdom, the fairest of all the land.

It’s not intimidating at all.

You watch Ruby help David out of the net, a good-humored but exasperated smile on his face when he hugs her, promising that he doesn’t feel bad because she really is the best trapper he’s ever known. You can’t watch her hug Mary Margret, so you busy yourself by walking around the campfire. You notice the stack of wood right next to the case of empty beer bottles. You figure that Ruby isn’t the only one that’s had too much to drink.

Because you’re still kind of lost in your head, her hand catches yours before you realize she’s walked up to you. You smile when you meet her eyes and she tilts her head towards the woods in a silent question. You nod once, waving when David thanks you for the help and warns you both to stay safe.

Ruby eagerly guides you back towards the woods, the shadows, the unknown—you follow without hesitation. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness, but you know Ruby would never lead you astray. Her path is undoubtedly the safest and easiest for you to navigate.

“You scared me earlier,” you admit after a few minutes of walking in silence, “when you kept me from ending up like David, I never heard you coming.”

She looks back at you, the playful look in her eyes gleaming in a trace of moonlight. She drops your hand, walking backwards. You take steps to match, trying to keep the same amount of distance between you, but your foot catches a tree root and you glance down to keep from falling.

When you look up she’s gone.

But just because you can’t see her doesn’t mean she’s not there. You felt her watching you when you entered the woods with David, and you can feel her now. You stay very quiet, trying to hear any sort of movement. She’s playing a game and you want to give her something to be impressed with, so you scramble to keep your wits about you.

“The part I find interesting,” you tell the trees around you as you spin slowly, looking for any trace of the girl.

You have very little chance of spotting her, hearing her coming, or guessing where she might be hiding, but you can try to keep calm in the face of uncertainty and _trust_ her. The edge of the woods is just barely visible up ahead, an obvious thinning of trees, so you take a step towards it. With each step you feel more and more like that’s your goal, to get out of the woods before she can sneak up on you again.

“Is when you grabbed me, the first thought that came to my mind was,” you lick your lips, twigs snapping under the soles of your boots, “Ruby wouldn’t have let this happen.”

Something brushes along the small of your back, and you turn quickly, but she’s not there. She’s toying with you—encouraging you.

“You never would have let someone come close to me like that,” your voice is a whisper, sharing secrets to the woods themselves.

There’s a tug at your jacket sleeve. When you look left, there’s a tug at your right, and of course, by the time you look there, she’s gone.

You bite your lip around a smile. Your breath is light and quick with the adrenalin of this game, heart fluttering in your chest.

“I feel safer with you—” your voice catches when a soft pressure runs along the backs of your thighs, “then anyone else.”

Your confession is met with the same silence, the sound of your own breath, and you wonder if Ruby can hear your heart racing. You take a few steps backwards, looking in vain for a glimpse of the wolf, slowly inching your way to the edge of the woods. The closer you make it to town, the thinner the trees get and you know it’s only a matter of time before Ruby has to show herself. You’re halfway tempted to stop walking entirely, to prolong the game.

To give her a reason to keep this up.

You stop walking anyway, because you’ve backed into something very solid and very alive; the breath on your ear, the hands closing around your upper arms. The shadows of her forest surround you, tickling your mind, making your thoughts foggy and lost to anything but her.

You shiver.

She makes a gentle sound, teasing and inquisitive—looking for your surrender.

With a quick breath, you spin on your heel, and she steals the air from your lungs.

They’re so bright— _her eyes_ —golden and gleaming in the small band of moonlight passing in the small space between you. Ruby is, and always will be, a hunter. All she had to do was look at you and you’re fixed in her trap. You feel her hands resettle on your shoulders, fingers testing the fabric of your jacket, finding the curls of your hair, a thumb brushing along your collar. Is it her wolf that’s making her so liberated with her touching? Or is that the alcohol? You really have no idea, you’re not sure it matters either.

She hums, pleased.

You’re not sure if she’s pleased with herself, for catching you… or if she’s pleased with you, for being such great prey.

Something makes you take a small step closer, eyes dancing between hers, speaking in a low tone, “You think you’ve caught me?”

Her lips split into a smile, head tilting to the side, regarding you curiously and cautiously, as if she knows you’re capable of more than a bluff. It thrills you that she will give you that confidence, that she sees some sort of power in you. A spirit her wolf respects. Not wanting to disappoint, your plan goes into action.

It starts simply enough, placing your hands on her hips. Ruby’s eyes never stray from yours, still gleaming so brightly. You trace the seams of her jacket, follow her arms to her shoulders—if she’s allowed to touch, so are you. She blinks, the vibrant color disappearing, and when she focuses on your face, she’s not looking at your eyes.

This is Ruby, staring at your lips. You want to forget about the game for an instant, forget about everything and—no, you’re not brave enough for that just yet.

You tug sharply on the flaps of her trapper hat, pulling the material down past her eyes. She lets out a surprised grunt, her hands shooting to her face, but you’ve already slipped by her, taking off running towards the edge of the forest.

Your laughter is just as loud as your footfalls, but you can still hear her growl.

That sound makes your stomach flutter, impulsively looking over your shoulder—her eyes, glowing in the darkness, are the only thing you can see of her. Then you hear it, she’s storming through the woods, stealth no longer a concern. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end, your feet move faster, and the excitement of the chase has your blood rushing.

You feel _alive_ tempting the wolf as you are. You know Ruby would never hurt you, this is only a game after all, but there’s this… underlying gravity burning in the back of your mind, a very strong understanding of exactly what this woman is capable of and the definitive realization that… you like this game; taunting her, provoking her in this way, the feeling of a hunter on your heels.

It thrills you.

And perhaps… you’re more excited about what might happen at the end of the chase then the chase itself.

If you pluck up the courage.

You hear her inches behind you; a soft, playful rumble in her throat, meant to prepare you, so she doesn’t take you too much by surprise when strong hands grab the back of your jacket.

The last tree of the forest was only a few paces away when her arms take a hold around your waist, lifting you clear off the ground, capturing you in every sense of the word. Your laughter fills the night air, your hair flies about your face when she spins you. Ruby gently lets your feet hit the ground again, making sure you have your bearings before she starts up the game again, pulling you backwards towards the forest.

The rules have changed and you scramble to keep up—to get away. Even in fun Ruby is so easy with you, her grip careful and tender when she grabs you, hands ghosting along your stomach as you weasel your arms out of her grasp. Your giggles echo around the trailhead, your feet kicking up fallen leaves and twigs when she lifts you again. You squeak this time, making a teasingly pleading noise behind your smile.

She sets you down again, one arm around your waist, the other around your shoulders, keeping your back flush against her front and easily wrestling your halfhearted struggles into control—you don’t want to leave her arms any time soon. Her breath tickles your ear, she growls so softly it’s almost a purr, the vibrations sending a tremble down your spine.

Then there’s a nip.

“Ah,” you wince, more out of surprise than pain; it didn’t hurt, it was just very unexpected.

Ruby, the perceptive, protectively cautious, Ruby, takes your surprise all wrong. You feel it happening behind you, the way she tenses, drawing her arms back instantly. You spin around and grab her jacket before she can get too much space between you, before she can be the one to run.

“Ruby,” you search for her eyes but she won’t look at you. She’s embarrassed, skittish, and her fingers are working against your grip on her jacket, leaning away from you. “Come now, don’t act like you took the whole thing off. I still have plenty of ear left, see?”

You brush your hair back to show her. It might still be tingling with the memory of her teeth, but your ear is perfectly fine.

“We were having a laugh,” you coax her hand away from your grip on her jacket and step closer, slipping your arm around her waist this time, “playing a game, being rowdy, you did nothing wrong.”

She takes a breath; you see the focus come across her face, licking her lips. She wants to say something with words like any other normal person. Your finger finds her lips before she has the chance, silencing her for a moment and making her look at you.

“You don’t need to do that, you don’t—” your eyes fall, losing your confidence, but needing to say this anyway. “You came into the woods tonight with a really good friend of yours, someone who you could be… yourself with, or at least, more of one self than the other… and I would really like it if you could… do that with me, too.”

You fiddle with the zipper of her jacket, still not able to look her in the eye. Her hands fall onto your shoulders, and she makes this, nearly inaudible, little whimper—vulnerable and reassuring all at once. She wants that too, maybe she just didn’t know how to ask.

“What I’m trying to say,” you take a shaky breath, “is that you don’t have to hold that part of yourself back. You can trust me to do my best when you’re not the most talkative, and that I won’t take any sort of offense to the odd… bite, every now and then.”

How much you’d like it to happen again goes unsaid.

“So, now that that’s settled,” you switch topics and try to gather your courage again, pulling her just a little closer, “you caught me, fair in square, and while I put up a valiant resistance—”

She makes an amused little snort at that and you look up, ready to tease her about sportsmanship.

That argument never comes; she throws her arms around your shoulders for a great big hug. You’re still at first, trying to catch up with her embrace, the warmth of her body against yours, the strength in her presence around you. Your knees tremble—a tingle in your earlobe—but she only holds you tighter, pressing her face into your hair, nudging her nose against your temple, in that particular way she has when she’s saying so many things without words.

She’s glad you’re here.

She’s thankful that you understand.

She… Ruby cares a great deal about you.

You don’t need her to say it out loud when her way is so much sweeter.

Your arms tighten around her and you wish you could speak her language to say it all back.

But there is something you can do.

“As I was saying, you won our game so it’s only fair that,” you gather your courage, pushing away just enough to see her face, meeting her curious eyes before looking to a different part of her face, “you are… rewarded.”

You’ve decided take a leaf from her book and put the words away, pushing up on your toes and—she’s the one that squeaks this time.

You kiss her gently, trying to say thankful for how gentle she’s ever been with you, how careful and caring—more so than anyone else, she’s shown that she cares about you. And you care about her, _so much_ , you wish you could show it the way she’s done for you, with all her support and patience.

Ruby kisses you back, slowly at first, like she wasn’t sure if she is dreaming or not. Her fingers slip into your hair, arms drawing you closer, and you’ve never felt like you belong in one place more than you do in this moment. It feels _right_ , and you feel braver and stronger than you’ve ever felt in your entire life.

When you pull back, falling back onto your heels a small whimper floats through the air. You smile, rather bashfully and kiss her cheek just once. When you meet her eyes she’s looking down at you like you’re—she’s looking at you like you’re precious, and _hers_.

Half hidden in shadows, drowning in moonlight, and the night filled with the whispers of swaying leaves in the wind, this moment is prefect.

There’s nothing else to talk about. 


End file.
